


When The Going Gets Tough...

by GuardianQwerty



Category: NCIS
Genre: Other, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:44:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianQwerty/pseuds/GuardianQwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The experiences of Dr Taft and Gibbs on how Gibbs is coping with the aftermath of getting shot. Intertwined in Season 13 Episode 8 Saviors. Possible Smut in the future chapters (though unsure of the exact story line).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intertwined into the actual storyline of Season 13 Episode 8 Saviors, so its a bit of my work but there is a lot of the original script in it. 
> 
> I'm fairly new to fanfiction so any tips or constructive criticism is appreciated. 
> 
> Each Chapter will be from either Taft's or Gibbs' POV, probably interchanging. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy and next chapter will be up shortly, however it is quite short.

* * *

 

**Leroy Jethro Gibbs:**

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. South Sudan? That's-that's rugged country for anybody, much less a guy six months out of major surgery,” said Dr Taft with a concerned, yet annoyed tone.  
It really pissed Gibbs off when people questioned his choices about his health.  
  
“Funny, I don't recall asking.” With a slight grin Taft faced him and said, “send me a postcard.”  
  
All of a sudden Jeanne Benoit interjected into the conversation,  
  
“what about me? I'm not staying.” Gibbs looked up into the eyes of Dinozzo’s ex, the determination in her eyes to get to South Sudan was real, but he couldn't risk bringing a civilian with him.  
  
“I can't help that… No room,” he responded, even though he was perfectly aware that the cargo plane that they were taking had plenty of seats, even if they weren't the comfiest.  
  
“Look, I've been to South Sudan many times. I know the region, the people, and the dialects better than any of you. I'll fly myself there whether you take me or not.” It was clear he wasn't going anywhere without her, but he was getting flustered especially with the next few comments.  
  
“Having an experienced doctor come along could be to your advantage, Gibbs,” commented Taft, much aware now he wasn't stopping him from going.  
  
Tony was the next to interject his opinion with a casual “Might not hurt, boss,” while Tim was straight after, almost like they planned the whole routine to get Jeanne on the flight. “Plus, boss, it is a cargo plane, I mean, there's plenty of seats.” As soon as Tim mentioned the fact that they did have room he knew he couldn't say no. But the flustered feeling was getting to him and he was feeling awfully warm, considering how cold it was outside and in the building.  
  
“Okay, fine! Fine. Book her a seat. It's okay. You can come.” He said in an exasperated tone which didn't help him as he had started to feel awfully light headed and queasy.  
  
“Just make sure that Mc…” he stopped suddenly as his vision blurred and his heart increased pace, he leaned forward slightly and closed his eyes for a second.  
  
“Boss?” He heard Tim ask but slightly faded like some had clamped down on his ears.  
  
“Gibbs?” He couldn't recognise the voice of that comment but he continued to ignore the symptoms.  
  
“Just-Just Just…” He couldn't finish the sentence as he fell down into his chair, his light headedness had turned into something more severe and his vision was made up with a bunch of black dots. He had no idea what was going on even with the sudden shouts of Taft who seemed to be very close now,  
  
“Gibbs? Gibbs?! Gibbs, look at me. Look at me. Look at me.” He was feeling his neck, most likely for a pulse. The blurred vision and heavy sweat that covered his back was intense and he only heard parts of the rest of the conversations and what people were yelling.  
  
“Call 911! Gibbs, look at me. Look at me.”  
  
“ We need an ambulance.” He continued to slowly deteriorate, before he was completely unaware of what was going on, slumping forward over his desk and giving in to the darkness that had started to cave around his vision.

* * *

 


	2. Wrong Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Taft's second guessing decisions he has made about his patient.

* * *

 

**Dr Cyril Taft:**

He never should have let him go back to work so soon, especially considering his track record with injuries. He had asked the NCIS director to give him his medical file, and to say the least it was no pleasant read. His earliest injury stated, was being caught in a blast in Desert Storm in ’91, while they seemed to all get worse from there. Concussion from being hit on the back of the head by his third ex-wife (he didn’t need to wonder why), shot in Positano, injured clavicle, shrapnel wound from another explosion in South America, shot in the left shoulder, knee injury, amnesia and concussion from another blast on board a Turkey ship and the list just went on. It amazed Cyril how Gibbs had managed not to drop dead yet, he clearly had already gone through all his nine lives but somehow he was still kicking. Well not at the moment.

In the ambulance Gibbs laid motionless on the gurney, his heart rate was up and he was covered in sweat. Why didn’t he ever just talk or tell people if something was wrong. He is probably the worst patient he has ever had, apart from that German backpacker who refused to stay in hospital even straight after surgery and ended up dropping dead as he stumbled into the ER the next day after going for an intensive run.

He swore some people just never learnt, and Gibbs was definitely one of them. The EMT decided it was probably best to let him ride along with him considering he basically knew his case file back to front, and it was a good thing too, because during the ride over Gibbs’ heart rate went through the roof and then crashed all of a sudden, which definitely threw the trainee medic with a curve ball. After arriving at Walter Reed Hospital he had administered several tests to check Gibbs’s heart function and also had a charming conversation with Director Vance which they had both agreed to confine him to bed rest. He knew Gibbs would be fuming but it was the only way to keep him out of harm’s way, so he could at least rest his heart.

* * *

 


	3. Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibbs life is flashed before his eyes, and when he does wake up it is only grief he faces.

* * *

 

**Leroy Jethro Gibbs:**

Flash… he is laying on the ground a few hundred metres away, preparing to take the shot at Hernandez, the man who was responsible for killing his wife and beautiful daughter Kelly. The lining up of his scope to his target, his slight resistance on the trigger, -“was he seriously about to kill a man in cold blood”- resting his finger lightly on the trigger before pulling it with enough force to administer the kill shot. The sudden pain caused him to yell out loud at the realisation that the shot wouldn’t bring them back. What had he done?  
Flash… Kelly’s face… Flash… Shannon’s note “we all need a code we can live by”… Flash… Pointing a gun at his head could he really live like this…? And then darkness.

Gibbs woke with a start and he immediately began pulling off oxygen tubes and little sticky patches that had been monitoring his heart rate. A sudden sarcastic tone had become aware to him as he continued to pull the different medical equipment off his body.  
“I know you dig the sporty gown, Gibbs. There's no need to keep pulling stunts like this to get one.” The tone’s owner was Dr Taft, but though the sarcasm was there he really wasn’t in the mood for it.  
  
“Just get me unhooked so I can get out of here.” He grunted in response to the unwanted comment. Taft shrugged his shoulders, while scribbling some notes on what looked to be a chart responded.  
  
“Maybe, after a few more tests,” Gibbs was frustrated, just what he needed in the middle of an investigation, so with a sigh he released his thoughts.  
  
“You know, I was fine until you showed up,” he posed in his usual gruff tone though with a slightly more exhausted sound to it. Taft looked up from the chart, with clear awareness that this wasn’t the case at all, seeing straight through this line.  
  
“Oh, is that right? Uh, 'cause your team seem to think that you've been a little too quiet lately. Like John Wayne biting-the-bullet quiet.” Gibbs’ annoyance was stretching.  
  
“So?” so what if he was quiet, that’s his choice on how he works, it didn’t have anything to do with his health.  
  
“So, I called Director Vance at his conference in Geneva, and he has agreed to put you on limited duty from home… Pending my discretion.” Taft responded drawing out the first part of the sentence and ending with a slight warming smile, yet with a side of cheekiness. Gibbs knew this would happen if something like this happened, god, why did he let himself do this. The frustration swelled inside him as he looked around for that god forsaken piece of technology that people called a communication device.  
  
“Where's my phone?” He questioned, before receiving a quick reply back.  
  
“Mm, you can call, but he won't budge.” Taft clearly had thought this out, blocking Gibbs every way possible. He thought about a different approach.  
  
“Does he know about South Sudan? Does he know about your missing friend?” Again Gibbs ran into a road block.  
  
“We want Ryan found, but right now, you're in no condition.” Taft again looked up from the chart, now looking slightly annoyed and concerned. This didn’t help his case, but he did have a slight point. As he struggled to attempt to climb out of bed there was a distinct high pitched voice bustle in through the curtains.  
  
“You forget about South Sudan, mister. You're not going anywhere.” Abby had walked into the room, pointing at him like he was a bad kid who had just stolen a cookie from the cookie jar.  
  
“Abby…” he began.  
“Don’t ‘Abby’ me. You collapsed in the squad room, Gibbs. What part of that is okay with you?” Abby looked seriously pissed, but he annoyed look was covered by her worry for the man she knew closest as a father.  
  
“Were you there? I did not collapse.” This line for Gibbs was possibly bending the truth too much, and he was basically knocked back from there on because another friendly voice but a lot more quieter came around the other side of the curtains behind Abby.   
  
“Yeah, you kind of did, Gibbs.” The voice belonged to Bishop and she looked extremely worried, which seemed to be the united front of all three people present. But he also felt a little ganged up on.  
  
“Aw, swell. Where-where's DiNozzo? Where-where's McGee? Let's bring the whole gang in here.” A hint of sarcasm coming across his voice as he expressed his frustration even more.  
  
“Actually, they're somewhere over the Atlantic about now.” Said Bishop still staying quiet but stepping forward from behind Abby.  
  
“What!?” He couldn’t believe it, he was the team leader, what had they done. Though the initiative of the decision was right.  
  
“Next flight to South Sudan wasn't for another two days, so they made an executive decision, knowing that you were in good hands.” Bishop had commanded this sentence with a bit more strength, but looked over to Taft as she said ‘good hands’.  
  
“So YOU listen to Dr. Taft and let them worry about Burley and Jeanne Benoit. Really? Wow.” Abby interjected into the conversation with a slight amazed sound finishing at the end. Gibbs lay back against the pillow, it was definitely comfier than his couch but he didn't pay much attention to this as his insides were fuming with frustration over what had happened. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all enjoying this series, the next chapter will be out anywhere between a day and the next week, so stay tuned.
> 
> And remember if you got any tips please share.


	4. Death By Steak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has Gibbs pushed his luck too far with Taft and how will Taft respond to Gibbs' irresponsible actions towards his health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback so far, this chapter is rather long however I really enjoyed writing it.

* * *

 

** Dr Cyril Taft: **

By the time Abby and Bishop had left the hospital, he and Gibbs were alone. However Gibbs was ready to leave and Taft wasn’t about to stop a man packing a gun, with military training. So in effort to stop him from crashing his car on the way to his house –that had been driven over by Bishop-, he offered to drive him back. Though was promptly denied, and instead ended up putting him into a taxi and promising to drive his car over later on.

The drive over was quite hectic, crazy drivers merging like idiots and a couple of bikers racing each other down the main highway. And he was stressed over the fact that he had called Gibbs too many times and he hadn't responded, making him extremely worried. But he eventually pulled up to the house of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. After locking the car and bursting up the stairs two at a time he arrived at the door. He knocked a few times and knowing it was unlocked burst through hoping not to see a dead Gibbs on the ground.

 “You don't answer your phone?” Taft said in a fairly exasperated and frustrated tone, he looked at the man deeply, waiting for a response.  
  
“I didn't hear it.” Responded Gibbs casually, not even looking up from whatever he was doing. However he had clearly been lying as Taft eyed the phone resting on a couple of books.   
  
“Right.” He said as he rounded the left hand side of Gibbs, before quickly spotting a rather browned piece of meat.  
  
“Oh. What a lovely brunch, very healthy.” As he said this Gibbs straightened up, rolling his eyes and holding a fork that was skewed through the piece of steak.   
  
“Look, I'm at home, Doc, doing what you said. Isn't that enough?” Gibbs was clearly annoyed about the fact that he had bounced in here and started accusing him of all sorts. They had now walked towards the dining table.  
  
“Forgive me for caring. And you're right. It should be enough, since all your tests turned out normal.” He finished the sentence by chucking a sheet of paper that happened to be some test results down on the table.   
  
“Blood work, EKG, PET scan, CAT scan, everywhere a man can be scanned. You're a human-like turbo jet.” Taft didn’t like it when he couldn’t find a medical reason for a patient to have collapsed, because it always meant it was something psychological.  
  
“Okay then. Want to share the steak? I got to get to work.” Gibbs responded clearly happy to hear this news.   
  
“No, thanks. Uh, and no, you don't. Or rather, you can't work. Not yet.” As he finished this sentence he sat down in the nearby chair. Taft really struggled to put his thoughts into words when approaching the man that managed to live so long in his life without giving into mental struggle.  
  
“Why not?” This time he said it more curious than demanding like previously.  
  
“ I saw you go down, Gibbs. You did collapse. The pain you felt was very real and it quite literally knocked you on your ass.” He wanted to give him a hug, because in his experience people who presented these issues ended up being a lot less accepting of them, but it usually meant something had gone terribly wrong in their lives.  
  
“You just said you didn't find anything.” The calm voice had gone and the demanding, annoying tone was back teeming with need to know what the hell was going on.  
”Which leads me to believe that what you were experiencing was likely stress-related. A, uh a physical manifestation of an emotional response.” Saying these sorts of things were very difficult to discuss especially with this man, one he had grown a touch more close than other patients.   
  
“So you think this is in my head?” Gibbs demanded, and Taft automatically thought why did whenever someone get told mental issues they always think of it being in their head.    
  
“Not exactly. ‘In your head’ suggests that you imagined it. It's more cellular than that. It was real.”  
“Cellular?” Gibbs responded becoming curious to what he was saying.   
  
“Your body has a memory, Gibbs. And people who've been shot and nearly died don't get to just go on with their lives like nothing ever happened. You have to talk about it. Go to therapy or group counselling.” Taft finally said it, getting it out of his head and into the open; however he knew it wouldn't go too well.  
  
Yeah. No.” Gibbs responded in the short, sharp way he always talked.   
  
“That's it? ‘Yeah. No.’?” Gibbs always managed to say exactly what he didn’t want to hear.  
  
“The only therapy I need is my job.” This classic line spilled out of Gibbs’ lips and spoke exactly how he thought Gibbs would react, though it annoyed him about his lack of care he has for himself. He just wanted to shake him until he understands the need for him to pay attention to his health.   
  
“Mm, be sure to put that on your tombstone. So you're not even gonna entertain the possibility that the psychological toll of what you went through might be bigger than you're aware of? Or are willing to admit?” He had now raised his voice and the exasperating and annoyed tone was clearer in his own voice than ever.   
  
“Doc, do you want some of this steak or not?” Gibbs pronounced loudly and clearly pissed off at Taft’s over protectiveness of his health. This annoyed Taft, did he have to eat like this, especially in his current condition. Without even thinking about what he was doing he got up, grabbed the fork and stabbed the steak. He then walked over to the bin and dumped the medium rare piece meat in it, before walking back over and throwing the fork down on the table. He stared Gibbs straight into his deep blue eyes, wondering if this would give him a better picture.   
  
“I'm gonna take that as a no.” Gibbs said quietly, continuing to return the stare that Taft had managed to train on him.   
  
“People who've been shot don't eat like nothing happened, either. As your doctor, I'm not gonna watch you kill yourself.” Taft finished this sentence with a lot of force, because to be perfectly honest he didn’t care for him just as his doctor, but also as something more because he thought of this man as more than just any patient.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you have any thoughts or criticisms that could help me out!


End file.
